Cadre of star comrades
by NCR Ranger
Summary: The battle for control of the Ark, for all the massive set piece battles that rage across it, will be decided by the actions of small teams of the best fighters of either side, including the vaunted and storied commandos, known as Orbital Drop Shock Troopers.


There was a meteor shower over the Ark.

Set with breathtaking contrast against the star sprangled night sky over the Forerunner Installation , a flurry of burnt orange streaks fell in a cluster, arcing down with undiniable grace toward the ground. They made no sound ( at least, none that could be heard by anyone or anything on said ground ), as they hurtled toward thier destination.

If this spectacle had taken place over a Human colony, or even anywhere where humans had settled and built anything, it'd have garnered at least _some_ attention. No matter how common meteor showers were ( and to be accurate, they weren't rare by any measure ), whenever they fell over somewhere inhabitated, they never did so without being noticed; there was always an audience. Humans had always been facinated by the night sky since time immemorial. Falling meteors were someting facinating. They were attention grabbers.

As it was, though, all those who were around to watch these meteors fall, were a hanfull of Moa. The queer looking, long legged and knobby kneed birds, with thier distinctive purple crests, had been loping along one of the cliffs overlooking one of the Arks expansive, rolling seas. They'd been on thier way to find a place where the cliffs dropped, so they could get down to the water's edge, and get a long overdue drink ( Not only did they _look_ odd, but Moas could, bizzarely, drink seawater, albiet only in very limited doses ), when the bright lights in the sky- the ones that weren't glowing the bright white of stars- got thier attention.

Of course, they had no idea what they were looking at; they were just birds, after all. They did, however, have just enough basic level curioisity to take at least a fleeting notice of the impromtu lightshow. The flock stopped, craning thier small heads, up to watch the shower, making little chittering sounds back and forth to one another.

Once again, though, their being Moas, they missed something else about the incoming space debirs, as they began to get closer and closer to the surface of the Ark. _If,_ the Moas hadn't been animals, _if_ they'd been beings with a bit more sentience, they'd have realized that, though the ' meteors ' were still quite a ways off, and still had yet to fully hammer thier way through the atmosphere:

The meteors, weren't actually meteors.

* * *

 ** _" If I were dying on my knees_**

 ** _You'd be the ones to resuce me_**

 ** _If I were drowned at sea_**

 ** _I'd give you my lungs so you could breathe"_**

The timelss lyrics of the Kodaline song boomed out, and reverberated fiercely back and forth inside the SOEIV ( ie, a drop pod ), as it continued its firey descent. Blaring out from the speaker of portable datapad, the sound waves just added to the already thunderous, body-shaking din that filled the interior.

Many-most, in fact- would call it madness to make it any more chaotic if you were sealed inside something that was half the space of a closet, falling out of the sky, _and_ on fire. They would say, as well, that anyone who _wanted_ to be in a situation like that, was a definte kind of crazy, and might even need some kind of help.

But, then again, most and many weren't the cutting edge of the UNSC's fighting ranks. Most weren't the deadliest and most aggresive warriors of the human race ( barring the Spartans, of course ).

Most weren't Orbital Drop Shock Troopers.

But, the occupant of the pod, a Prussian-heritaged man by the name of Major Otto Ruab, of the 15th Drop Shock Infrantry company, was. And he'd never once dropped without his favorite song playing at full blast.

Seeped in nearly a decade of service to the elite commando unit, Otto, like any ODST worth his salt, was someone who had a love of tradtion. As a culture unto themselves, ODSTs always adhered to thier own cutsoms, thier own practices. They had them for everything, and while that was technicnally something that all of the UNSC's troops tended to do, ODSTs considered it a essential component of who and what they were: They prided themselves on being different, on being unique, setting themselves apart from everyone else.

Playing an practially ancient song from his personal datapad, as his pod shuddered with intensity as it plowed through the Ark's atmosphere, hard enough to make his body vibrate down to its center, seemed like it fit the bill to Otto. He had a industrial-vice grip on his crash harness, his gloved fingers wrapped around the handles. Not out of stress, or fear ( he was no rookie, after all ), but becasue that was the effects of the lyrics, at least on him.

He was fired up, as the flames screamed around his pod, and it rocked around in the ruthless turbelence. Out through the window, just past the whipping fire, he could see the starry sky.

This is what he lived for.

 _Chhhnk_ !

The pod flipped, nearly, as a fragment of outer hull plating the size of a garbage can lid, came hurtling away, torn loose by the heat and g forces. Warning lights blazed in the interior displays, both of the pod, and on Otto's helmet HUD.

A few beads of sweat began to trickle down his forehead, as the heat outside had less between it and him. A bead of that new sweat trickled steadily down to the tip of his nose, then dripped off, landing in the mustache of his that wrapped down to join a goatee that adroned his chin

 _And, I can't wipe any of it off, with his helmet on. Its as if I'm a medieval knight, like my ancestors._

 _"Major ! Your pod just shed some plating ! You ok !? "_

Abruptly, ' I got you Brother ' stopped, as the communication from Otto's 2nd in command, Lt. Alexander Mahmoud, a good officer, and an able Second, , came through over the command freq, taking priority. Just like the song, though, it came though with impressive clarity, despite the wall of white noise.

With a blink, Otto selected the ' Transmit ' option on his HUD, and responded:

" Ja. Its allright, I still have control !"

As he spoke, a loud beep sounded, once, then twice.

" _Sir, that's your-_

 _My stabilization warning. I know._

More blinks. Otto checked his backups. They were still holding, for now.

" Do not worry about me; I can still land this pod, will be through the atmosphere shortly ".

There was a pause, and Otto could tell the Eygptian man was biting his lower lip, clearly frustrated to a T that he couldn't do more to help his commander.

 _We both know he can't help, but that won't help to say it._

 _" I can track your pod visually, sir. Don't worry; still got your back "_

Despite everything, despite everything, Otto couldn't help but laugh out loud.

" As usual ! See you down there, comrade. "

He closed the link, and took a moment to finally exhale. He was still well aware of the danger he was in:

A burning pod, with part of its heat shielding gone ? That was a first line in a textbook of bad drop. He'd have to use everything he'd ever learned, and be granted some divine good fortune, to make it through this.

But, he was still an ODST to the soul.

He could not keep a smirk off his lips.

But,


End file.
